


Always

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8562505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: My reasoning's for the shit-show that was the Baftas. This is the night before.





	

I needed to touch him. I needed him here with me. He was always by my side. But not tonight. Not tonight.

My façade dropped only momentarily as I took another gulp of champagne, eager for the alcohol to blur the thoughts that clouded my mind like ghosts in a tomb. 

I smiled brightly for the cameras, the flash of bulbs penetrating my eyes like daggers in my heart, reminding me that there was no arm around my waist. No heat from his body scorching mine at the slightest touch. No sly grin or silly giggle at feeling him grow against my leg as he held me close. Held on for dear life as we played the game again in front of the lens.

Friends.

Feeling aware of myself, exposed and yet isolated, I glanced down at my hand, watching in confused fascination as two of my fingers rubbed together. Sam did that. A Jamie tick he had picked up and often caught himself doing. I bore my eyes into my hand as if demanding an explanation for its actions.

“Caitriona!”

I heard Tony’s voice, soft but insistent, yank me back from my thoughts as my champagne flute jostled in my hand, spilling liquid down the stem.   
“Christ,” I muttered under my breath. 

Tony glanced around, checking for any observers, satisfied there were none, he took me by the arm into the corner of the room. He watched me intently for a moment, I could feel, more than see, his eyes on me. He took my champagne flute and placed it on the console table next to us. I watched a ring slowly form around the base of flute, entranced by its fluidity.

“Caitriona, get a grip.”

I closed my eyes, willing the world to just stop for a moment, before I opened my eyes again to look back at my friend. “I have got a grip.”

“Really? You think so? Listen, I don’t mind playing the maybe boyfriend to ease your work pressure, but you’re starting to unravel.”

“We were told to tone it down. So, that’s what I’m doing.”

“No. You’re not. I’ve never seen you like this.”

I fell slightly back against the wall. The world was just too heavy. I always kept my cool. I wasn’t the one with the glass face. But I did feel suddenly like I had a glass heart.

“I’m sorry, Tony. You’ve been so good about all this. Sacrificing your own personal life.”

He rolled to his side, falling against the wood panelling alongside me, his lip curving upward, “Sacrifice? I’ve met some great guys while being your beard.”

I made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cry before leaning my head on his shoulder.

His head tilted to meet mine. “Go to him, Cait.”

****

The drive wasn’t even an hour, yet I felt like I had been seeing the same scenery over and over, like a broken reel in some old movie. I glanced down at the steering wheel, my fingers tapping the leather in a steady rhythm, pulling me into a trance. It was the sound of a truck horn that released me from the tapping’s seductive grip as I pulled back into my lane.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly, willing – begging to be set free from the constant reminder of the one happy thing I wasn’t allowed to show. 

I turned the corner and the immaculate view of the hotel came into view. The Gleneagles. The stone walls felt cold as I approached, yet the drapes, visible through the windows, reminded me of the opulence that lay inside. Opulence and secrets. 

Tonight, it would house another secret. A secret that two lovers, brought together by a love story as old as time, were in truth, a part of their own love story. Married, for better or worse. Husband and wife, on paper and in heart, but only in private.

I pulled over to the side, sighing heavily. I hadn’t told him I was coming. We had spoken in the morning, going over our stories once more. I could see the thoughts above his head like I was watching him sort out some complicated puzzle. How to be together without stirring the pot. The pot that, apparently, we had already spilled over. Our mess causing big wigs, people we barely knew except on paper, to clean up. 

We were sat down in a room. Sam’s shyness taking a backseat as he argued the new rules put in front of us. Perhaps not rules. More like forced guidelines on how to handle our lives.

I watched as Sam got up from his chair, arguing with his hands on the absurdity of their demands. I sat back in my chair, lowering my eyes, defeated. I never retreated from a fight. But after months and months of being told to cool it and being not so cordially invited in on conference calls on the benefits of secrecy for some big deal, my fire had burned out. As mine extinguished, Sam’s lit up the nights’ sky. 

Typical.

Sam was always so relaxed. Chill. Rarely one to get angry, let alone to rise off his chair and set aflame a dying ember.  
But he did. And now we were here. Or more accurately, he was at his alma maters concert and I was happily enjoying our Bafta nomination alone, 44 miles away.

 

Sam’s POV

Photo posted to Instagram to prove I’m not in Glasgow.

Check.

Cait’s picture circulating the net to show her at the Bafta party.

Check.

Drink in hand, numbing the anger inside.

Check and check.

While I was looking forward to the concert tonight, I was disappointed it happened to fall on the same night at the Bafta nominee party. I wanted to be there. I’m a nominee and feel I’ve earned my place. I’m not unhappy about being here. I just wish I wasn’t on my own. 

I texted Cait that I was spending the night here. Had booked a room in. I had left her this morning, angry at our lives being controlled by other people and her giving in. It was her suggestion that we be separate this evening. That it be put out there in the world that we were at separate events before the shit show that was going to be tomorrow night.

The incessant wrapping of my fingers on the glass of the Glencairn seemed to single to the bartender to fill it with another dram. I happily drank it down, the burn coating my throat and fueling my fire. I glanced at my phone. No new messages. She hadn’t even responded to my text. I closed my eyes, images of Cait and Tony talking and smiling for the cameras at the party seared into my inner lids. 

I let out a large sigh, signaled for another, and set the glass down on the bar with a heavy hand. I was jealous of a friend. A gay friend. But someone that the world was supposed to be seeing as Cait’s boyfriend. And tomorrow, I would have a girlfriend. 

And all I wanted was my wife.

I turned myself on the stool, steadying myself against the mahogany before testing my legs. I had lost count of how many drinks I had had. I suppose it was for the better to get a room anyhow. Driving the Audi in my condition certainly wouldn’t be beneficial to any one’s health.

I closed my eyes tightly before slowly opening them again, wishing the world to slow just enough to crawl into bed. I grabbed my cell off the bar and headed toward the lift and ultimately, my room, with its large bed that I will barely be conscious enough to enjoy slipping into.

Cait’s POV

I fumbled with my phone in the lobby. The blank screen screaming back at me to write something. Anything. All I knew was that I needed to feel him next to me. Inside me. Needed to drag him into me, screaming and fighting and tearing each other to bits, so that we could heal. Or perhaps that was what we’d need after tomorrow.  
Tomorrow. Good God. 

Sam had been seeing me bring Tony to occasions he had wanted to share with me. They were friends, but that didn’t change things. But tomorrow was going to be the first time I was ever going to be subjected to the things he had been dealing with. Images shoved in his face by social media were now going to be turned on me. Not just images. She was going to be there. We had met. We had very little in common. Very little. But she seemed nice enough. A random conversation he had had with this unknown person in the summer, was inadvertently thrust into our lives as the perfect scape goat. I had agreed to it with a simple nod. Sam had watched my face at my acknowledgement and had simply   
closed his mouth tightly and lowered his head in capitulation.

What was I doing here? He didn’t want to see me. His text proved that. No sweet words or even pedestrian comments. Just Staying the night.

I watched as a group of businessmen left the bar and walked toward the lifts. Smiling, laughing and talking shop. Their ties loosened and no doubt their tongues as well as I ease-dropped in on their locker room talk. I felt anger toward them. They could simply be worker bees, yet they reminded me of the people that I was supposed to be angry with. Angry the way Sam was. And that’s all he wanted from me: To be angry. Angry for us both.

I hit the call button and waited. And waited. It rolled to voicemail and I swore under my breath, hanging up. The phone lit up a moment later with a text.

Come up. 

Armed with the suite number, I headed head-strong to the lift. I pulled the buttons of my coat free, smoothing out my skirt. I hadn’t changed from earlier. Just hopped in the car and drove.

When the doors opened, I stepped forward, pausing only slightly. I felt flushed. My heart beat strongly inside my chest as I heard the click of a distant door and suddenly it stopped. Everything stopped.

I turned to find Sam, clad in only black boxer-briefs, squinting into the hallway light from his room door. I smiled at the sight of him, something I often did, but it quickly disappeared. His face was stone. Cold stone, and it looked as if he was holding the door frame up with his own strength, but he looked weary. Not simply drunk, which I was almost assuredly certain was the case, but tired. 

I took a deep breath and walked toward him. His eyes never left me as he backed up into the door, allowing me to duck under the bridge of his arm holding the frame up. I walked deeper into the room, noting the clothes strewn across the couch and floor. I placed my coat across his on the couch, noting only one small light on in the hall. He had been sleeping.

I turned at the click of the door, “Whisky suite, huh?”

“I thought it appropriate.”

His response was even and I wanted to just pull him to my breast and hold him close. But we needed to fix this. “How was the concert?” I asked as I began to pick his clothes off the floor. He came up behind me, taking them from my hand and tossing them in a pile on the couch before leaning back against the wall, arms crossed.

I watched him quietly for a moment. “I’m sorry,” and I was. “I’m just tired of fighting them and it’s not for much longer. A few months maybe. At most.” I pleaded before turning toward the window to avoid his gaze, opening the curtains enough to peer into the darkness. 

I could see Sam’s reflection in the window as he pushed himself off the wall. I didn’t turn, but watched through the fog of my breath on the window-pane as he walked toward me. His hands, still warm from sleep came to my waist, gliding upward to my breasts. My head fell back against his shoulder as his hands circled the satin, undoing the little tie at the collar before squeezing my breasts. 

My hands clenched, imprisoning the drapes in my grasp as I felt his breath on my neck. I slowly rotated my hips into him as he pushed back. He licked my neck, agonizingly slow, before freckling it with small kisses. He pushed his cock hard against my lower back, ripping open my blouse at the same time. “Oh,” I cried as buttons scattered down my body, falling to the floor like beads off a child’s necklace.

His left hand found my hip again, gripping me with bruising force as his right slipped under the waist of my skirt, travelling lower, finding the elastic of my panties as he continued to push himself into me. 

My panties were soaked. I already knew that, but when his skin made contact underneath them to the warmth of my center, I could feel juice sliding down my legs as he slowly fucked me through our clothes. His cock, hard and wanting through his boxers, pushed against my confined ass. 

The drapes strained against my grasp as I felt a finger enter me. “Yessss,” and I pushed back on him harder and brought my hand to the back of his head.

“No,” I felt the finger being ripped from inside me as he pulled my hand free from his head, pushing it back against the window. “Don’t move.”

I whimpered but lay my hands lay flat against the window. Its icy touch a cool relief against my heated flesh as I watched Sam, in the reflection, drop to his knees behind me. Pushing up my skirt over my buttocks. His hands on my backside, he tore the cloth of my panties, dropping them to the floor.

He rubbed my cheeks and slapped me. Hard. I cooed and parted my legs, allowing him easier access. He turned around, bringing his mouth to my heated flesh, sucking strong and hard. I made noises I was certain would call management to the room. He ate like a starving man, not savouring a delicacy, but pushing himself further into his meal like a wolf fighting for his share.

I pushed myself down onto him as his hands gripped my hips, keeping me steady, unwilling to give up any nourishment. His tongue penetrated me, stroking me from the inside before moving to my clitoris. I grabbed the curtains again, desperate for something, anything, to hold onto. My eyes sparked stars behind my lids as I strained against the pressure building inside. I rode his mouth as much as I could with his grip on my thighs. I pulled the champagne drape to my mouth, biting down on the fabric as anger and passion seared its way through my body. My toes tensed in my shoes and I lifted just slightly off his mouth before he pulled me back down onto him, exploding in his mouth and ripping the curtain from its hanger. 

I rode the waves that rippled through my body, barely noticing the destruction in front of me as Sam abandoned my pussy and stood quickly. His silhouette moved swiftly against the window like a ghost before I felt him push inside me from behind. 

“Ahhh,” I called out.

Not yet finished with one orgasm, he brought on a second wave that shattered through my body, leaving me panting and calling out his name in desperation. I could feel the sting of tears fall down my cheeks at the sheer intensity of emotions crashing through my body. He pushed into me, hard and strong, his movements, lacking finesse, but not intent. One hand held my waist as the other found a breast still confined to my bra. He pulled it free and fondled the nipple, pinching it in time with his cock hitting my cervix.

Sam’s thrusts deepened as he dropped his forehead to my back, pushing up inside me, grazing the most pleasurable spots inside my body. I felt his grip tighten as he pulled my head backward, pulling me in for a kiss. Our breathing, so erratic and laboured, couldn’t seal our mouths over one another. We simply breathed each others breath. He pulled his face back slightly while continuing his assault, “Open your eyes, Caitriona.” 

I let out a gasp and a cry of exhaustion, but did as he said.

“You’re my wife.”

I nodded, closing my eyes briefly before opening them again to look deep into his. “I’m your wife. And you’re my husband.”

I watched his eyes close and a desperate vein strain against his forehead. His movements quickened inside me and his hand found my clit again as he punished me with his cock. His penetrations, shallow and inconsistent, called forth another climax in me. I called out to him, “My husband,” and felt him fall into the abyss with me, welcoming the burst of light behind closed lids and jerks of sweaty flesh squeezing out the last remnants of pleasure from each others body.

We collapsed against the window together, his seed dripping down my thighs as he slowly pulled free.

I felt his arms wrap around my body, pulling me back against his naked form. My body, tattered clothes sticking to its sticky form, sank into his embrace.

I wept.

****

I awoke some hours later in the darkened bedroom. I watched as particles of dust floated through the sun-streak off in the living-room from the fallen drapes.

I didn’t need to look up to know Sam had woken as well. His breathing had changed beneath my head and I could feel the rubbing of his fingers gently brushing my shoulder. I felt his heavy sigh before he spoke.

“I’ll play the game today. But I give them till the end of the year. That’s all they get to finish this bloody deal.”

I nodded against his chest. “I agree.”

He tilted his head to look down at me, “Do you?”

“Yes. I have to support my husband.”

He smiled and brushed a stray hair from my face before his face fell slightly, “I’m sorry about last night. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I could feel a blush rise in my cheeks, “you have to know that.”

“Aye. I do. But I figure I’d apologize anyway. Seeing as you don’t seem to have any spare clothes and I’ve ripped all the ones you had.”

“Ah. Right,” I recalled.

I settled down into his body once more as his breathing became steady. We could still sleep a few more hours. I was nearly asleep when his voice broke the silence. 

“Even though we’ll have other people next to us tonight, just remember: I’ll always be right beside you.”

I smiled into his chest. “Always.”


End file.
